Once Upon a Dream
by justicemuffins
Summary: After Steve and Phil suffer an accidental psychic bond, they begin unwittingly accessing each other's memories via dreaming. The solution? Sharing a bed. (Developing Steve/Phil. Mentioned Steve/Bucky/Peggy.)
1. Other People's Heartache

Steve knows at once that he's in a dream, but what takes him a moment longer to realize is that it's not one of his. They'd been warned that the accidental bonding which had occurred as a result of coming in contact with an ancient Asgardian artifact might produce side effects such as this, but it's still a bit strange. Here he is, bound to Phil Coulson, sharing emotions and memories alike. True, they'd grown closer over the months but there's no ignoring the fact that Phil is still a very private individual. So it's been peculiar to feel the slight brush of the other man's consciousness against his own, always peripherally aware of how the agent is feeling at any given moment. But this is the first instance of either of them sharing a full memory.

He's riding in a car. Based on the way he kicks his legs against the seat, he's guessing Phil had been very young at the time. There's a man driving the car—a police officer—who smiles and reaches out to ruffle his hair. The man has Phil's eyes and the name on his badge reads "COULSON." This must be Phil's father. Steve stops to consider that he doesn't know anything about the agent's childhood beyond a few details mentioned in passing and although he doesn't wish to intrude, the chance at catching a glimpse is something he considers himself fortunate to have.

The car comes to a stop and they get out at what appears to be a small diner. A waitress greets them with a degree of familiarity that leads Steve to believe this is a spot they frequent. They take a booth near the door and order their lunch. There is a glass of chocolate milk in front of him and a steaming cup of coffee before his father. He happily scrawls in crayon across his placement while chattering on endlessly with his father.

It happens very quickly.

There is a quick pop and then there is blood. Phil's father is still seated upright. There is blood running down his face, there is blood on Phil's drawing, there is screaming and crying and shouting and all he can do is watch his father slump forward into his plate. Blood is mingling with his egg yokes, both of which ooze off the plate and form a puddle on the table. Blue-gray eyes stare wide and sightless at the table.

Phil is silent. He sits and he stares, unable to process what he's seeing. There is panic bubbling up inside him, but he's so stunned by the sight before him that all he can do is ask for his father. Again and again, he calls to him, waiting for him to stir, to sit up, to do anything. Even when he's grabbed by the front of his shirt and hauled out of his seat, all he manages to produce is a faint whimpering. The man is shouting something into his face and shakily pressing the muzzle of his gun to Phil's temple.

All of a sudden, he screams.

* * *

Steve wakes mid-scream.

The cloying feelings of terror, despair and horror aren't his… but they certainly feel like they are. A part of him knows this had just been a dream, and not even one of his, but he's having difficulty shaking it. Drawing his legs up to his chest, he struggles to regulate his breathing and calm himself down, but the images won't leave his mind any faster that the emotions that linger. Hyperventilating with tears pouring down his face, he finds himself still trying to call out to his father—to Phil's father, that is. Minutes pass and he finds himself only slightly better off than when he'd first woken, until he hears JARVIS speaking to him in what sounds to be a concerned fashion.

_"Captain, Agent Coulson is requesting entry to your quarters. Would you care for me to admit him?"_

Steve can't do much more than nod his head. Thankfully, JARVIS seems to understand and a moment later, there's a knock at his bedroom door and Phil appears, looking a mix of sleep-rumpled and a cat whose tail has just been stepped on. Part of him hates that Phil has to see him like this, practically sobbing as he struggles to regain control, but he's glad the agent is here all the same.

"I'm sorry, I woke up and I felt…"

Phil places a hand to his own chest, his sentence petering out. Steve knows what he's trying to describe—that tight knot in his chest that feels like it's strangling him from the inside. It must have bounced back to Phil and woken him. The agent makes a hesitant move toward him and Steve wishes he would come closer.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

When Steve can't answer, Phil draws nearer. Steve can feel the worry radiating off of him and, surprisingly, it seems to help mitigate the negative emotions weighing him down. He doesn't mean to startle the other man, but the moment he's within reach, Steve can't help but haul him in. Phil is surprised but doesn't resist Steve's crushing embrace.

"Bad dreams?" Phil guesses.

"I didn't know," Steve says, his voice rough with sleep and tears, his face pressed to the agent's shoulder. "Your father… You mentioned once that he died when you were young and I didn't… I'm so sorry."

He feels Phil stiffen against him, feels the brief spike of emotion that comes with recalling an old hurt, but the agent relaxes almost as quickly. In its place, worry and regret come washing over him instead.

"I'm sorry," Phil says, finally returning his embrace. "You shouldn't have had to see that; this hasn't been very fair to you."

"God, Phil, no," Steve says. "_You_ shouldn't have had to see that. I can't even imagine…"

Phil shushes him, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his back. His voice is gentle when he says, "It was a long time ago."

Steve knows that what Phil's trying to say is primarily true—it had happened a long time ago and he'd had time to come to terms and heal. But he knows just as well that it's the sort of wound that never completely heals over. As terrible as this feels, he at least has the benefit of being able to wake up from it; he can't imagine what it must have been like to have to live with that kind of experience.

"What happened to you?" Steve can't help but ask.

"I'm sorry?"

"Just before I woke up, the man had a gun to your head."

"Oh," Phil says mildly. "Well, he froze. He'd gone to the diner that day with the intention of killing both my father and myself out of some sense of revenge, but when he got to me he wasn't able to do it. I think I reminded him of his son. I was the same age then that his son had been when he'd died."

"And after?" Steve asks. "How did you cope?"

Phil meets his question with silence and Steve considers that he may be overstepping his boundaries by asking. It's a very real possibility that he's made the agent uncomfortable, which can't be helped by the fact that Steve continues to cling to him like a lost child. But surprisingly, it's not feelings of discomfort or anxiety that he's reading off of the other man, but rather, a feeling of warmth. In fact, he'd go so far as to call it love.

"I didn't. For a long time," Phil says slowly. He hesitates, tripping over his words, and Steve feels a sort of nervousness from him; like the agent has butterflies in his stomach. "You'll think this is ridiculous… I mean, you already know, in a way, that as a kid I… well, I mean you were… to me, that is…"

Phil stops, takes a slow, measured breath to calm himself and continues.

"You were what helped me cope," Phil admits, his embarrassment unable to drown out the warmth in his voice. "I wanted to be like my father, like you. Trying to emulate you and your values gave me the strength to pick up and move forward. You… actually helped me through some very difficult times in my life, as strange as it may seem."

Somehow, the thought comforts him. Steve can't go back in time and help that little boy the way he'd like to, so this is as close as he's going to get. And it embarrasses Phil. He can feel it—the way the agent feels ashamed of his admission. Yet underneath that, there is still that warmth, that love, attached to it all. It warms Steve, too.

The fear and despair slowly melt away, leaving an exhausted, fuzzy warmth in their wake. It occurs to Steve that he's still hugging Phil close like a teddy bear and that perhaps it might be best if he were to let go. He does so, drawing back slightly, more than a little ashamed himself.

"I'm sorry," he says, scrubbing a hand across his face. "I didn't mean to wake you. Or to jump you like that."

Phil just shakes his head, sitting beside him on the side of the bed. "No, you don't have to apologize. I may have been the cause of this whole thing. Ever since we, well, _bonded_ I've been worrying about what might leak over to you from me. I spent a lot of time worrying about this in particular and dragging it to the surface like that may have been what caused it to transfer to you. So I'm sorry for that."

Steve hesitates before asking the question on the tip of his tongue. It might seem just a tad inappropriate, but given the situation he thinks Phil might just understand.

"This is going to sound bizarre, but if you're comfortable with the idea," Steve says, "do you think you could spend the night?"

"Here?" Phil asks, eyebrows raised.

"I think I'd just feel better if you were close, is all," Steve adds.

Phil seems to give the idea some consideration. "I suppose we could do that."

Steve has had stranger bedfellows in the past, so this shouldn't feel all that odd, but he'd never had to share a bed as well as a psychic link with anyone before. Since they'd met, the relationship between himself and Phil has evolved to carry many titles: coworkers, teammates, allies, friends. But he wonders if asking this of the agent is asking too much. Phil is polite enough and values their friendship enough that he likely wouldn't refuse the request even if he truly wished to.

"If you don't want to stay, you don't have to," Steve says, turning his head towards the other man. "I'll be fine."

"I'd rather stay and be sure," Phil responds. "Besides, I think it's less of a strain when we're closer to each other."

Now that he mentions it, Steve can see what he means. That tugging sensation in his gut that he'd been walking around with since this had happened to them seems to have mostly dissipated since they came into direct contact with each other.

"I think you might be right," Steve murmurs thoughtfully. He shifts as something occurs to him and he has to ask. "Are you getting things from me? The same way I am from you?"

"Emotions, certainly. No memories as yet," Phil says.

Steve hums in recognition of the agent's response, but he can't help but wonder exactly what the other man is picking up from him. Or how he's interpreting it. Regardless of the answers to those questions, he founds the horrific dream has left him exhausted and eager to get back to sleep. Deciding any further contemplation can wait until morning, he does just that.

* * *

Waking presents Steve with a distinctly different arrangement than when they'd fallen asleep. He tries not to make any sudden movements when he realizes that he and Phil are tucked together, their legs tangled and Steve's arm curled around Phil's waist. Not wishing to wake the agent, Steve remains where he is and ponders how to disentangle himself without doing so. While he continues to try to think of a way out of this predicament, he can't help but notice that, apart from not wanting to embarrass or insult Phil, he doesn't feel any pressing need to readjust their sleeping arrangement. In fact, he feels more comfortable as he is.

He remembers how Phil had mentioned this—that contact seems to put less of a strain on them while they're bonded. But surely it shouldn't feel quite like this? And yet here he is, lulled into a sense of contentment by the sound of soft, even breaths and the agent's warm weight against him. That is, until Phil wakes up. Phil's breathing shifts as he wakes, only to roll back enough so that he can see Steve. There is moment when Steve is staring down at the agent blinking sleepily up at him before he does what feels to him to be the only sensible thing left to do.

"Morning," Steve says dumbly.

"Morning," Phil echoes groggily.

Steve moves to disentangle himself, allowing the agent to sit up.

"No more bad dreams?" Phil asks, rubbing at his eyes.

"None, thankfully," Steve says. "You?"

Phil shakes his head before slowly moving to slip out of the bed. Steve's used to seeing the other man humming with a sort of constant energy, always doing something, so it's strange to see him first thing in the morning when he's drowsy and just slightly uncoordinated.

"I have to go get ready," Phil says, stretching. "Meeting with Fury."

"Right," Steve says with a quick nod. "Listen, thank you. For last night. It actually helped a lot and I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate it."

"We're in this together—quite literally—so I'm not about to leave you saddled with any of my baggage without at least attempting to do something about it," Phil answers. He clears his throat and Steve watches as some color rises to his cheeks. "And if I'm being truthful, it's probably one of the better night's sleep I've had in weeks."

"I wasn't going to mention it," Steve says with a soft huff of laughter, "but yeah. Me, too."

"Well, I'm glad it was mutually beneficial then," Phil declares.

"Definitely," Steve agrees.

They fall silent and Phil seems to hesitate, like there's something he wants to say before he goes but isn't sure if he should. Steve looks to him expectantly and that seems to be all it takes.

"It occurred to me, maybe we should continue this? Until this is resolved, I mean," Phil ventures. "For the sake of preventing what happened last night from occurring in the future."

"I don't have a problem with that," Steve says. "It's probably not a bad idea."

They exchange a few ideas, including alternating rooms each night, before Phil departs to prepare for the day. It should seem strange that neither of them seem all that bothered by casually discussing sleeping together, but it's not really all that odd an arrangement, is it? It's only after Steve's shut the door after him that he stops to wonder just what had happened. Recalling the events of the previous night, he wonders if they should talk when they have a chance. A very private, very dark memory had been shared with him and not by Phil's choice. The agent hadn't behaved as though it bothered him, but on some level, Steve is sure that it must.

Then what about his own memories? What might he end up transferring to Phil? Not knowing how long this bond will last or what further trouble it might cause, he has to wonder he's gotten himself into.

"Only one way to find out," he says to himself.


	2. On Your Mind

Phil isn't sure what to make of the night prior or this morning. It's not that he feels uncomfortable, exactly. Not with the sleeping arrangements, anyway. Knowing what Steve had seen last night leaves him with a feeling of insecurity; he's a private man by nature and for good reason. The people who even know about the exact nature of his father's death can be counted on one hand, but this is different. Steve had been given the most intimate view of the whole ordeal possible—through Phil's own eyes, experiencing every one of Phil's emotions throughout.

Largely, he feels regret for having put the captain in that kind of position, unintentionally though it may have been. He'd seen himself what kind of state Steve had been in following being forced to witness such a thing and he can remember very vividly the experience himself. He tries not to, but it's not the sort of thing you can ever completely forget.

"Word on the street is that you were seen coming out of Cap's quarters this morning."

Phil is jerked out of his reverie by the statement and finds Jasper falling into stride with him. He sighs, pulling out one of his flattest stares in retort as they continue down the hall together. It's not overly cool out today, but he's glad for the steaming hot coffee that his fellow agent hands him because ever since he'd left the Tower, he's had a chill in his bones that he can't seem to shake.

"And by 'word on the street' you of course mean 'Barton told me,'" Phil corrects him.

"Like I said," Jasper agrees. He nudges Phil with his elbow. "How's that whole bonding thing working out for you?"

"That's what we're on our way to discuss," Phil informs him.

"I had a hunch," Jasper says. "But you didn't answer my question."

Phil doesn't want to admit that, more than anything, this experience has left him feeling vulnerable. His personal life is personal for a reason and now he runs the risk of having any and every deep, dark thought or memory transferred to Steve without knowing how to stop it. As if this isn't bad enough, he's got another thing to worry about: namely his pesky attraction to the other man. Barring last night, he's been able to hide it very well, but there's no denying that being asked to spend the night had nearly made his heart leap into his throat. Apparently Steve had been too preoccupied with the lingering feelings of his dream to notice it and Phil supposed he should be thankful for that much.

But then Phil had gone and done the fool thing of suggesting they continue it and, even worse, Steve had agreed. True, he'd suggested it solely for the purpose of making this as easy on both of them as possible, but he'd mentally kicked himself all the way from the captain's quarters to his own. Well, at the very least he can keep himself occupied at work until they find a way to fix all of this. The worst he has to deal with seems to be the strong tugging sensation in his gut that comes with putting distance between himself and Steve, which he can put up with as long as it means he's got less of an opportunity to spill his big secret.

"It's… interesting," Phil says slowly. "As for why I was in the Captain's quarters, well, he happened to receive a particularly unpleasant memory from me in the middle of the night, his distress woke me and I went to check on him. It turns out the best way to prevent memory transfer and to relieve the stress of the bond is through physical contact."

"So you slept with him," Jasper says. "You slept with Steve Rogers. Captain America. And you. In a bed."

"Stop it."

"Come on, Phil, you have to see that this is more than a little crazy."

"Believe me, I do."

"Well, at least you managed to escape without embarrassing yourself. And it was only one night."

Phil winces at that.

"What?" Jasper asks seriously. "What did you do?"

"I may have suggested we continue to sleep together and he may have agreed and called it a good idea," Phil says, rubbing his temples with a sigh.

"So you _want_ him to find out you've got a big, dumb crush on him, then," Jasper says.

"No, I wanted to prevent any more of my memories leaking over to him and it didn't occur to me until after I'd said it that I'd just placed myself in a very problematic situation," Phil says.

"And do you have a plan to get yourself _out_ of that problematic situation?" Jasper wants to know.

"I'm working on it," Phil says.

"Tell him you gave it some thought and that you decided it would be better if you didn't continue," Jasper suggests. "Rogers is an understanding guy."

"And I suppose I _could_ do that if it weren't for the fact that sleeping together seems to be what prevents memories from transferring. So, if I tell him I've changed my mind and we sleep separately, I run the risk of him finding out because of a memory that he picks up from me," Phil says, swiping his keycard with a little more agitation than usual. "But if I try to keep it to myself and continue with this sleeping arrangement until our bond is dissolved and he later finds out about my feelings towards him, there is absolutely _no way_ to excuse my actions."

"You could always just tell him," Jasper suggests.

Phil glares at him in a manner that doesn't need words to get the point across that he isn't helping.

"Like I said, Rogers is an understanding guy," Jasper says with a shrug, shoving his hands in his pockets. "He probably wouldn't think that much of it. He's bi, isn't he?"

"Beside the point," Phil says, waving a hand.

"No, the point is that he's interested in guys and is used to guys being interested in him. There's no reason to be weirded out just because one of his male friends is attracted to him," Jasper says. "And you never know, it might be mutual."

"Now you're just being ridiculous."

"And what part of that is ridiculous?"

"Age difference."

"Look at Thor and Foster."

"At least Thor doesn't _look_ like he's thousands of years old. If you didn't know he was, they'd easily pass for an ordinary couple."

Jasper gives him a hard, scrutinizing look as they step into the lift. Phil knows what he's doing, why he's being watched so closely. It's because he doesn't really do insecurity and if he does, no one knows about it. He makes sure that no one knows about it. The fact that he's openly blathering on about it, even to Jasper, is cause for concern.

"Exactly what kind of memory did you pass to him, anyway?" Jasper asks.

"My father," Phil says shortly.

Jasper nods silently, digesting that particular piece of information for a moment before saying, "You said he didn't handle it well."

"He was seeing it from my perspective, experiencing every emotion that I felt in that moment," Phil says, shaking his head wearily. "So no, he didn't handle it well."

"I think you need to talk to him," Jasper suggests.

"I think that I do," Phil agrees. "But for now, let's just see what Fury has to say."

* * *

"I'm… _what?_"

Phil tries to let his mouth hang open as he stares at Nick, wishing he hadn't heard what he'd just heard. So much for his plan to hide out at work.

"Until we can get this all sorted out, you and Rogers are grounded. Presently, you're a liability and I can't permit either one of you to go into the field," Nick repeats. He leans forward in his seat, folding his hand before him and had he been speaking to anyone else, the gesture might have been intimidating. "Or do you disagree?"

"No," Phil says heavily. "I admit that sending either of us into the field at this junction would be highly irresponsible, but do you really need to put me on leave?"

"Look, Phil," Nick says, "it's just until we can get this figured out. Take a few days and work with Rogers to try and make this as bearable between you two as possible."

"I'd prefer if I could at least be here doing something," Phil says. "There's no reason for me to take time off of work."

"Considering you look like you're about to faint like a southern belle with a case of the vapors, I'd say, yeah, there is," Nick retorts.

Phil doesn't realize he's shaking until it's pointed out to him. Sure, he'd been feeling off since he'd gotten in, but he'd just written it off as anxiety over the mess he'd gotten himself into. Now, though, as he takes time to actually consider what Nick had just said, he sees the man's point. He feels washed out, drained. And cold, for some reason. He'd felt chilled all day, but it's developed into feeling like someone's cranked up the air conditioner and he's the only one whose noticed. What had started as a faint tugging sensation in his gut is quickly becoming a painful cramping and part of him just knows that the bond is to blame for it all.

"We had a theory that distancing both of you might produce some kind of reaction," Nick explains. "So we needed to test it."

"Bastard," Phil grumps, trying not to curl in on himself.

"Sitwell's going to escort you back to Avengers Tower and take over your duties until this is cleared up," Maria says, catching him by the arm as he rises shakily from his seat. "Try to take it easy in the meantime and stay close to Rogers if you can."

Phil grumbles at that, but doesn't argue. This is mostly due to the fact that with the way the room is starting to spin, he's not sure that opening his mouth won't result in vomiting all over poor Maria. So he wordlessly allows Jasper to steer him out of the conference room and towards the elevators. There are spots in his vision as the elevator descends and more than once he feels Jasper place a steadying hand on his shoulder. He stumbles once or twice as they walk through the parking lot before keeping his breakfast down is no longer an option.

"Come on, the car's not much further," Jasper says in an attempt to pry him off the wall. "Stark just called and it sounds like Cap isn't much better off, so the sooner we get you two back together, the sooner you're going to feel better."

Phil makes a vague noise in agreement, not keen on doing so much as nodding his head for fear of provoking another bout of retching. He remembers at least making into the passenger's seat of the car before it all gets to be too much and everything goes dark.

* * *

It's cold. There's a biting wind that cuts straight through him, flakes of snow stinging his skin as they whip past. He's standing on a ledge, observing a train below. Phil knows this dream isn't his, that it's a memory of Steve's. The question is, what memory?

"Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?"

"Yeah," he says, "and I threw up?"

"This isn't payback, is it?"

He turns to look and is met by the cocksure smile of one James Buchanan Barnes. It clicks into place for him, and Phil knows now what sort of memory he's in store for. It should figure that after having one of his most painful memories transferred to Steve that the reverse should occur. That's just their luck.

"Now why would I do that?" he asks.

Bucky huffs a laugh and shakes his head before their attention is drawn towards Gabe Jones, who sits crouched in the snow beside a radio opposite Jim Morita.

"We were right: Dr. Zola's on the train," Jones says. "HYDRA dispatcher gave him permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he's going, they must need him bad."

Steve turns to Bucky and gives him a look that clearly says it's time to go before shoving his helmet on his head and once again approaching the ledge.

"Let's get going because they're moving like the devil," Montgomery Falsworth pipes up over his binoculars as they prepare the line.

"We've only got about a ten second window," Steve announces, latching his pulley onto the cable, "you miss that window… we're bugs on a windshield."

"Mind the gap," he hears Falsworth snort.

Beside him, Dum-Dum Dugan rumbles, "Better get movin, bugs!"

The second he hears the signal, he propels off the ledge, sending him shooting out across the gorge. If he'd been cold before, then he's freezing now as his speed sends wind and snow whipping at his body Even through the thickness of his uniform he feels that deep, cutting chill. The second he's over the train, he drops and once his boots hit something solid, he uses his momentum to lie himself flat, his cheek pressed against cold metal as he waits for the others to drop behind him.

Together, they rise carefully and make their way along the length of the train. He catches sight of Jones, crouched and rifle drawn as he prepares to keep watch, before climbing down the ladder and breaking in through the compartment door with Bucky close behind.

The two of them creep forward, eyes ahead and guns at the ready as they move between the shelves. Being inside gives them some reprieve from the bitter storm, but after spending so much time shouting over the wind, he finds the silence deafening. Even his breathing sounds too loud to his own ears. They've yet to encounter anyone, however, which he finds more than a little alarming.

Stopping briefly to glance back at Bucky, he can see that his friend is every bit as confused as he is. But they have to press on, so press on he does. He's only taken a few paces into the next car when the sound of a door slamming shut causes him to make and abrupt about face. Bucky is now trapped on the other car just as the door to his own slams shut as well. He has just enough time to see Bucky's car swarmed with HYDRA soldiers before he's got problems of his own to deal with.

He fires his gun at a soldier clad in a metal suit—and dimly Phil thinks of the early Iron Man prototype—but the bullets ping off ineffectively before he's forced to duck behind a stack of crates. The blast goes singing by him, quickly followed by another, giving him little time to return fire. At last he seems to get his chance as the suit needs to recharge for another shot. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he springs from his cover and leaps up to grab hold of the pulley above him, sending him swinging towards the soldier.

Just as he's about to connect, the suit fires off another shot at him. He pulls his shield in front of him, hearing the metallic _'thwop'_ as it absorbs the vibration and sends the blast ricocheting off to the side. He flies feet first into the chest of the armored soldier, dropping him to the ground. Landing in a crouch beside him, he delivers a quick knock-out jab with his shield to make sure he stays down. Once the armored soldier lies unmoving, Steve picks up his arm, using it to fire a shot off at the car doors, clearing a path to Bucky.

He dashes forward before the smoke has even had the chance to clear, only to find his progress blocked by the second door. A bright red emergency release button catches his eye before he glances through the window just in time to see Bucky run out of ammo. Pressing himself to the wall, he draws his own gun and checks to make sure there's sufficient ammo before slamming his elbow into the button.

Bucky looks up in surprise as the door slides open, perhaps having been expecting another HYDRA soldier, but the open relief on his face is gratifying to see as Steve nods and tosses him his handgun. With a plan in mind, and no need to explain it to Bucky, he rushes out with a shout, shield held aloft. He throws his weight into one of the cases on the shelf, sending it toward the HYDRA soldier and forcing him to dive out of the way—and into Bucky's line of fire. The shot is easy to make, and a moment later, they're standing alone in the car, catching their breath.

"I had him on the ropes," Bucky proclaims.

"I know you did," Steve answers fondly.

Any celebrating is cutoff as he hears the sound of a weapon charging and it turns out his armored soldier isn't as unconscious as he'd thought.

"Get down!" he shouts.

Frantically he pulls Bucky behind him while at the same time lifting his shield to cover them both. Unfortunately this means he doesn't have time to brace himself and as the shot connects at an angle, the force of it throws him away from his shield and into the wall, hard enough to dent the paneling. For a moment he lies stunned, the shot still ringing in his ears as pain radiates down his spine. The blast had torn a hole in the side of the train, the metal curling back like an open sardine can.

But what commands his attention is Bucky, who picks his shield off the ground and holds it before him, firing off round after round against the armored soldier. The next blast is deflected by the shield, but Bucky isn't used to it the way that Steve is, isn't used to the way it handles. His heart leaps into his throat as Bucky is bounced off in the same way he had been, only it's out the hole in the train.

With renewed vigor, he leaps up from where he'd fallen, grabbing his shield and hurling it with all his might at the armored soldier. Without even pausing to see if the soldier was down for good, he turns and hurries towards the hole.

"Bucky!" he cries, tearing his helmet off his head.

He begins shimmying along the unstable metal, spying Bucky swinging precariously from the railing at the furthest point away from him. Panic bubbles up in his chest as he watches Bucky lose his grip and try desperately to reclaim it against the failing support of the railing.

"Just hang on!" he hollers over the wind. He climbs out as far as he can before stretching his arm out to his friend. "Give me your hand!"

Bucky reaches, the railing comes unhinged.

"No!" he screams.

Bucky's fingertips brush his own before the railing finally gives way, and he watches in horror as his best friend plummets towards an icy grave.

* * *

Phil is still screaming Bucky's name when he wakes, still reaching out for him despite the arms wrapped around him. He struggles briefly before giving in, hanging his head and sobbing brokenly at the overwhelming sensation of loss threatening to tear him apart. The here and now start to leak back into his consciousness, enough so that he knows he's not alone.

"Do you think you could give us a minute?" Steve asks, voice thick with emotion.

Phil hears a mix of responses and the shuffling of feet. Eventually he knows they must be alone, but Steve has yet to let go of him. He's glad for it. He can still feel the chill of the memory, but the soldier's presence is helping to thaw him out.

"Phil, you with me?" Steve asks quietly.

Phil nods, breathing heavily. He swallows around the lump in his throat and pushes back the wave of tears threatening to crash over him.

"I'm sorry," he says in a choked whisper.

"Well, I guess we're… sort of even now," Steve says, the joke forced.

Phil's not sure he can bring himself to look Steve in the eye. But when he does, it feels like there's a clamp squeezing his heart at the look of grief in the soldier's eyes. He wonders, though, if Steve knows what he now knows. The last thing he wants is to cause Steve any more pain, but this feeling… it's unmistakable. Steve had lost his best friend and everyone in the world knows it, but he wonders how many people know he lost something more.

"He didn't know, did he?" Phil asks forlornly.

Steve looks startled by the question and for a moment, he stares blankly back at the agent. Phil presses on.

"That you loved him," he says.

"I didn't get a chance to say it," Steve says, staring down at his hands. "I should have said it. I should have said it a hundred times, but I…"

He shakes his head, cutting himself off. Phil can feel it; the loss, the regret, the anger, the sadness, all rolled into one. He can still feel the thought of wondering if he could have only just reached a little further, if he'd just been able to lean a little further out…

"Peggy and I talked once about it. Just once. And if we'd had the chance, I think the three of us, well…" Steve says, stopping himself to take a slow, deep breath. There's a small smile on his face that is so sad and so full of love that it crushes Phil to see it. "Well, I think we could've really been something."

"I'm sorry," Phil repeats as they sit facing each other. He reaches out, placing his hand on the soldier's. Steve has adapted so well, meshes with all of them so well that it sometimes slips his mind that the soldier sitting across from him is a man out of time. "Steve, I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Steve agrees, laying his other hand atop Phil's and squeezing gently. "I wish you hadn't had to see that. Or feel it. But thank you for understanding."

Phil shakes his head dismissively because how could he _not_ understand? That Steve is bisexual is no surprise, considering they'd had more than one discussion about it since they'd first met. The polyamory is slightly surprising, but only in the sense that Phil hadn't known about it until now. If Steve had been expecting to be judged for it, he's looking in the wrong place.

"I'm tired," Steve mumbles.

"Yeah," Phil says numbly.

They both know that the phrase holds more than one meaning, but neither comment on that fact. Phil leans in until his forehead is pressed to Steve's shoulder and not a moment later, one of the captain's hands withdraws from his to curl around the back of his neck. He turns his faces towards Phil's drawing him in and keeping them pressed close together. Phil drinks it in, still shaky from the memory and finding comfort in the other man's presence.

"You feel so good," Steve sighs in a way that sends shivers down Phil's spine. "When you're close, it's like… that feeling when you've been out in the cold all day and you come in and eat some hot soup."

The ridiculous thing is that Phil knows exactly what he's talking about. Simple human contact shouldn't feel this good, but it's like they're both starved for it and someone's just sat them down at a buffet.

"I think we should sleep," Phil murmurs. "Leaving was a bad idea."

"Yeah, it was," Steve agrees. "Bruce wanted to check us out, but I don't think I can stay awake for it. JARVIS?"

_"Yes, Captain?"_

"D'you think you could let the others know we're gonna rest for a bit?" Steve asks, already pulling Phil with him as he reclines back along the length of the sofa.

_"Certainly. Shall I draw the blinds and dim the lights as well?"_

"Please," Phil says, allowing Steve to box him in against the back of the sofa.

The blinds cover the windows and the lights slowly dim, bathing them in a comfortable quiet darkness. Phil curls against Steve's chest, not complaining when the captain once again wraps an arm around his waist. He closes his eyes, trying not to see Bucky falling just out of reach, and feels a sliver of guilt. He'd meant to talk to Steve about… this. But how could he possibly bring his own feelings up when Steve had just bared part of his soul to him?

As much as he hates himself for it, it's going to have to wait. For now, they both need to rest and sleep off the effects of this unhappy little adventure. There will be time to talk later.


	3. Come to me With Secrets Bare

"So, as it turns out, letting you two put any sort of distance between you was a really, really bad idea," Tony comments.

"I still think this examination is unnecessary," Phil remarks as he and Steve are poked and prodded by Bruce and the S.H.I.E.L.D. medic that Nick had sent along.

"Considering the strain it's put on both of you, it's anything but," Bruce comments. "We've already ordered an EKG for you."

Phil rubs his chest absently and across their bond, Steve feels annoyance mixed with humiliation. It's clear he doesn't like the reminder that he has his heart to consider—well, not _his_ heart exactly, but the one he'd received in a transplant after his encounter with Loki. He's healed well enough, but during any period of stress or injury, it's always the first thing that any of them point out.

"Better to let them run the test," Steve says. "Besides, I'll be with you."

Phil offers him a tight smile that lacks its usual warmth and the captain decides that when they get a moment alone, they should talk. A lot's gone on between them these past two days and they haven't really had a chance to truly discuss any of it. Plus, he can't help but think that something is bothering Phil; something more than their predicament. It's strange, but he's given the sensation of the agent pulling away from him. His emotions still ripple across their bond, but he seems more guarded than he had last night or this morning.

"Other than that, it seems you're both doing as well as can be, given the circumstances," the medic announces, pulling her gloves off with a snap. "I'll report back to Director Fury and schedule your EKG for tomorrow, Agent Coulson, but if either of you have any questions or concerns, feel free to contact me."

The group thanks her as she goes, allowing Steve and Phil to button their shirts and straighten themselves out. Steve glances at Phil, concerned by the tension he feels radiating off the agent and wondering if he's still feeling the effects of his memory of Bucky. He knows that he's still shaking off Phil's memory, so it's a fair guess.

"Jasper let us know that Director Fury placed you on leave until this is all figured out," Pepper says, handing Phil his tie.

"Which will hopefully be soon," Phil says.

"You're on leave, too, Rogers," Jasper tells Steve. "From S.H.I.E.L.D., anyway. How you conduct your business within the Avengers is up to you, but Director Fury has advised me to remind you that your decision doesn't affect just you."

"I'm aware. I don't plan on going into the field unless there's no other option," Steve assures him. "Until this is resolved, I'm off-duty."

The seriousness of the situation is disrupted by the loud rumbling of Steve's stomach. He clears his throat, flushing slightly as the others look to him with raised eyebrows. His metabolism already operates at four times the norm, but this ordeal hasn't done his body any favors. Thankfully, Bruce steps in to take some of the attention off of him.

"You both should get something to eat," he says. "You slept straight through lunch and after a morning like the one you've had, you need to put something in your stomachs."

"Considering I lost my breakfast, I think that sounds like a good idea," Phil says, backing him up.

"Nat and I were about to whip something up before you two woke up," Clint says, hiking a thumb over his shoulder towards the communal kitchen. He elbows Jasper. "You gonna stick around?"

"For your cooking? I'd sooner be tortured," Jasper says flatly. "Please don't poison either of them."

"My cooking isn't that bad," Clint complains.

"I had food poisoning for a week."

"That was _one time_."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Steve says, fighting back a smile.

"Well then I'd better report back to Fury," Jasper says. He claps Phil on the shoulder. "I'll be back tomorrow to pick you up for your EKG."

"Right," Phil says shortly. "Thanks."

With that, Jasper says his goodbyes and makes his exit. Steve and Phil follow after Clint and Natasha, the rest of the group breaking off to return to whatever they'd been doing beforehand. The two assassins immediately begin going about preparing to cook—grilled cheese and tomato soup, by the looks of it—and insist that Steve and Phil sit and relax.

When they take a seat at the counter, Steve takes the opportunity to get a good look at Phil. The agent scrubs a hand across his face tiredly, still seemingly recovering from their episode this morning. That nagging sense that Phil is withdrawing from him gnaws at their bond, leaving Steve with a strange, free-floating feeling of anxiety. Phil stares blankly down at the table and Steve reaches out worriedly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"You alright?" he asks.

The agent flinches—from the contact or the question, he isn't sure—but relaxes soon after. Perhaps sensing Steve's worry, he offers a reassuring smile. It's warmer than the one he'd seen during their examination, but still seems to be lacking something.

"Yes, sorry, I'm just a little preoccupied," Phil explains. "I don't think I have to tell you that this is all a bit much."

"You can say that again," Steve says. He frowns, sure that the agent is keeping something from him. "You're sure nothing else is wrong?"

Phil hesitates to answer and that tells Steve what he needs to know. Something's wrong, something's happened between last night and now that's caused this change.

"Whatever it is, I'd like to help," Steve says.

"We need to talk," Phil admits. "There's something you should know."

"Alright, well, we can—"

"Hot plate, hot plate."

Steve is cut off when Clint comes around the corner, placing a heaping pile of grilled cheese sandwiches in the center of the table. Natasha follows after him, bowls of tomato soup steaming on the tray she carries them with. Phil casts a quiet look of apology at him, to which Steve offers a nod of understanding. They need to talk, that's true, but it should be in a more private setting and preferably with something in their stomachs. After Clint offers to get drinks, they four of them tuck in to a simple, but satisfying meal.

"Wonder if Thor's having any luck," Clint says, tearing his sandwich into chunks and dropping them into his soup. "We haven't heard from him since he left."

"He did say that it might be more difficult to undo, considering we're both human," Phil points out.

"So do you two plan to sleep together until it's undone?" Natasha asks, dipping her sandwich in her soup.

Steve really shouldn't be all that surprised that they know. Considering it's the only thing that seems to help them in any way, he's got no problem with continuing.

"I don't know," Phil says, stirring his soup with his spoon.

This answer surprises Steve. Since Phil had been the one to suggest that they do this every night, it seems strange that he would state otherwise. He wonders if perhaps the agent is simply too embarrassed to admit, but something tells him that isn't the case. Based on the way Phil stares at his soup and steadfastly avoids eye contact with him, he's betting it has to do with whatever's gotten under the agent's skin.

Still, he's surprised by the disappointment he feels at the words. In fact, the more he considers it, the more disappointed he seems to feel. Phil stops stirring suddenly, quickly glancing over at Steve with a perplexed look on his face. Steve realizes he must have felt that, that disappointment, and hopes the agent doesn't take it the wrong way.

"We'll just see how it goes," Steve says, reaching for his glass of water.

"You say that, but you two looked pretty cozy on the sofa," Clint remarks.

"It just feels better when we're together," Steve says with a shrug of his shoulder. "I can't explain it, exactly, but if we're not together I feel this sort of… tug. In the pit of my stomach. So when we're near each other it feels something like satisfying a craving."

"That's certainly an interesting way of putting it," Natasha says, aiming for innocent and sounding anything but.

"Look, this is probably very funny to all of you, but it hasn't exactly been fun for either of us," Steve reminds them.

"But you have to admit that out of all the magic hoodoo we've had to deal with, this one's kind of out there," Clint says, taking a big bite out of his tomato-grilled-cheese-stew.

"A little more out there than I'd care for," Phil agrees.

"So what are your plans now that Fury's grounded both of you?" Natasha asks.

"Don't remind me," Phil sighs.

"Some time off might not be such a bad thing," Steve tells him.

"If I were you, I'd buckle in and get ready for some seriously negative vibes," Clint advises him, waving his spoon at Steve knowingly. "You know how grumpy he gets when Fury makes him take time off."

"I don't get grumpy," Phil argues. "I don't like inactivity."

"Then the two of you can go do something," Natasha says. "Just because you're on leave doesn't mean you're forced to do nothing."

"I suppose that's true," Phil admits.

"It's only a prison sentence if you make it one," Clint adds.

"There's a new space exhibit that I've been meaning to go to," Steve mentions.

"I'd ask if you were trying to get into Phil's bed with that one, but considering you've already accomplished that—"

"Funny, Barton," Phil says.

"Am I missing something here?" Steve asks.

"Phil loves space," Natasha informs him with an amused smirk. "You may as well have just asked him out on a date."

Steve chuckles along with Clint as Phil rolls his eyes, but then he feels something. It's like a tickle, a little jolt of something along their bond. He's hard pressed to say what it is, exactly, but it had come from Phil, that much is certain. There's a trace of that same, strange warmth he'd felt the night prior, when Phil had explained how he'd coped with his father's death. Last night he'd equated it to love. But what _is_ it? Well, Natasha had said he loves space. Perhaps it had just been excitement, then. Regardless, if it will get the agent's mind off of recent events, this little outing is something he wants to try.

"Well, what do you say?" Steve asks him.

"I think I'd like that very much," Phil says.

"We could go tonight," Steve suggests.

"I can't say I have other plans," Phil says with a lopsided smile. "And getting some fresh air might help."

They all stop when they hear the tell-tale sound of a vibrating phone. Phil offers them an apologetic look as he pushes back from the table and reaches into his suit coat. Checking the display, he holds it up for them to see.

"Fury," he says, already rising. "I'll be back in a minute."

The three of them watch him go, walking out the pantry and already deep in conversation. No doubt the Director is checking up on his One Good Eye; from what Jasper had said, the meeting Phil had gone to had been something of an experiment. Apparently they'd wanted to test the effects of stretching their bond over distance. It's something Steve has a few choice words for Nick over—and Tony, too, while he's at it. He understand it hadn't been done with the intention of hurting either of them and that it was something they needed to know, but they could have at least clued them in.

"So in all seriousness, how are you doing?"

Steve stops staring at the doorway Phil had left through just moments prior and turns his attention to Natasha. She and Clint are watching him with a new level of intensity now that they're alone.

"As alright as I can be, considering the circumstances," Steve answers truthfully.

"You two are swapping some pretty heavy stuff," Clint says, stirring his soup. "We all know the kinds of things that can happen when you open old wounds."

"Yeah," Steve says a little lamely, reaching for a second sandwich. It's something that's been sitting heavily on his mind. He'd seen something of Phil's and now had Bucky on his mind on top of it. "I was hoping to get a minute to talk to him later, but we haven't had much time to be alone since this morning."

"Your little night under the stars should be a good opportunity for that," Natasha says. He feels a touch against his knee—soft and fleeting, beneath the table. "But he's not the only one you can talk to."

Steve nods gratefully, a soft smile on his face. He understands the offer, even if it hadn't been direct, and he's thankful for it. It may be something he'll have to take them up on, depending on how long this lasts.

"Actually, now that you mention it… You two are closer to Phil than most," Steve says. "Has he seemed to be behaving at all strangely today?"

"You mean, is he behaving like he's got a stick up his butt?" Clint corrects him.

"Not how I would put it, but okay," Steve says shaking his head. "He just feels withdrawn compared to last night."

Natasha shrugs. "Phil likes his privacy. I can't imagine that sharing emotions and memories makes him feel very comfortable."

"I thought that could be it," Steve says with a heavy frown, "but he only began acting this way today. Last night, when I received one of his memories, he wasn't like this. It wasn't until after the incident this morning that he seemed to be drawing away from me."

"Well, you know he gets a bit sore when anyone mentions taking it easy because of his you-know-what," Clint says, tapping the left side of his own chest. "Coupled with the fact that Fury's put him on forced leave and on top of the rest of this bonding stuff, it doesn't surprise me that he's wound pretty tight. Talk to him about it, though. And if he stays a stubborn ass, which also wouldn't surprise me, talk to Jasper."

"I'll keep him in mind," Steve hums thoughtfully.

They drop the conversation the second they see Phil walk back into the pantry. The agent doesn't look pleased, but he looks at least marginally more relaxed than he had been earlier. He resumes his seat, pocketing his cell phone as he does so.

"If you're expecting an apology for being used as a guinea pig, I wouldn't hold your breath," Phil informs him.

"What did he have to say?" Natasha asks.

"Essentially more of what he'd been saying before I left," Phil reports. "Giving me an update on the HYDRA agents we recovered the artifact from."

"Have any of them said what they were hoping to use it for?" Steve asks.

Phil shakes his head. "No. Apparently everyone we apprehended is a low-level grunt. The big fish got away."

"So it stands to reason that they might be looking to get their prize back," Clint says.

"Exactly," Phil says. "So we're expected to keep on our toes."

"Awesome," Clint says around a mouthful of food.

"Like you expected any differently," Natasha says.

Clint swallows. "No, but you can't blame a guy for wishful thinking."

The rest of the meal is spent idly discussing what HYDRA's aim in obtaining the artifact could be, considering the effect it has. When they've finished eating, Phil and Steve offer to do the dishes, since Natasha and Clint had cooked, but the assassins can't seem to get them out the door fast enough. They claim that Phil and Steve need this time to themselves and that they can make up for it by pulling dish duty twice in a row some other time.

Steve finds himself thankful for their involvement. A bit of fresh air really does sound like the best thing for them and placing them both in a relaxing setting for whatever sort of conversation they're going to have seems like a better idea than keeping themselves cooped up in the Tower. It's unsurprising to him that Phil requests to drive them there and as they arrive at their destination, the agent seems more relaxed for having a sliver of control restored to him.

They purchase their tickets and begin wandering through the exhibit, engaging in quiet whisper-talk beneath the light of artificial stars. They stop for a time at a display of the moon, standing side by side and saying nothing. It's peaceful, bathing in the glow emitted by the artificial recreation of the heavenly body so adored by mankind. The other patrons move around them, like a river around a rock, but both of them are content to remain where they are.

"My father used to take me star gazing," Phil says, startling Steve. "We'd drive for hours; Boston had too much light pollution, so he'd take me camping in the White Mountains. I saw the moon landing while sitting on his knee and I fell in love with space. I wanted to be an astronaut for most of my childhood."

Steve dips his head in a nod. "You'd've made a good astronaut, I think. You've got the head for it."

Phil huffs a soft laugh. "I still love it, but I'm no astronaut. What did you want to be when you were a kid?"

"Alive, mostly," Steve says, trying for a joke and realizing too late that it might not sound as lighthearted as he'd been aiming for.

"Right," Phil says simply.

Steve kicks himself for ruining the mood, knowing he'd missed a good opportunity to have this conversation while Phil seemed more comfortable than he'd been in hours. Several beats of silence pass between them before Steve can't help but blurt something out. "Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, turning his head to look the shorter man in the eye. "Something to upset you?"

Phil pauses, weighing his words before delivering them slowly, deliberately. "You're asking because I seem more distant compared to yesterday."

"Yeah," Steve answers. "And if it's something I did—"

"No. No, it's not you," Phil is quick to assure him. He seems conflicted about what he wants to say. "It's something I'm responsible for. And I should have made the boundaries clear from the beginning, so this is my fault and I fully understand if you're angry with me."

"Over what?" Steve wants to know.

"Last night, when you asked me to stay, I did so because it was what was best for both of us at the time. But I should have considered how it might appear later," Phil says. "And I want to make it clear that easing the strain of our bond was my only intention."

"Phil," Steve presses. "What aren't you telling me?"

The agent takes a deep breath and Steve feels it again—that warm tingle, the flutter of anxiety.

"I have feelings for you. Have had feelings for you. For quite some time," Phil says haltingly.

"You do?" Steve asks, a little dumbfounded.

"Yes, and I understand how this must look. I completely respect your right to be outraged or uncomfortable with my actions, but I would like to say that I'm being completely truthful when I tell you that it was never my intention to take advantage of this bond in order to—"

He's cut off by a loud rumble which shakes the floor beneath their feet and sends many of the exhibit-goers to the floor. Having managed to keep themselves upright by clinging to the railing in front of them doesn't do them much good when a second rumble—an explosion—rocks the exhibit hall. They're thrown to the ground with everyone else as displays and ceiling plaster rain down on them. They don't wait for the dust to clear before they make to their feet, ready to deal with whatever is going on. Whatever is going on turns out to be HYDRA, of course.

The two grunts who run unwittingly straight into Steve's path are dispatched with quickly enough, but more are on their way and people are panicking.

"I'm going to radio S.H.I.E.L.D. for backup," Phil says. "Do you think you can hold them off while I get these civilians out of here?"

"Can do," Steve says with a sharp nod, shield at the ready. "I'm calling the rest of the Avengers in as well. You just focus on getting these people out and I'll make sure you've got the breathing room to do it."

Phil merely nods before turning to do just that.

"And Phil?"

Steve reaches out, laying a hand on the agent's shoulder, impeding his progress. Phil stops, looking back at his questioningly.

"I'd like to finish this talk later," he says, squeezing Phil's shoulder briefly.

"Of course," Phil says before pulling away. "Good luck, Captain."

Steve watches just long enough to see him begin rounding up the civilians. "God speed, Agent."


	4. Wish You Were Here

Confessing his feelings for Steve is the furthest thing from Phil's mind as he rounds up civilians and guides them to the emergency exit. Oh, it will be on his mind plenty later, after all of this has been resolved, but for now he can't afford to be embarrassed or flat-out fucking mortified. He can't afford to allow anything to cloud his judgment when there are innocent people in danger.

"Everyone please, remain calm and make your way to the emergency exit," he calls over the crowd, holding up his badge for them to see. "There is a S.H.I.E.L.D. unit en route to secure the area. If you'll follow me outside, I will escort all of you to a safe location."

Thankfully, everyone seems fairly willing to cooperate. The group moves quickly as he hollers instructions over them, moving them out of the building and into the streets. He checks quickly behind them to ensure they aren't being followed and that everyone's escaped from the building. He can see HYDRA swarming all over the place and hopes Steve can handle them until help arrives.

He ushers the people under his watch away from the building, moving further and further away as police begin to rush over to assist them. In the middle of this, Phil feels something; but not from Steve. As he's directing people towards safe outlets, he feels a sudden jab in his lower back. Startled, he tries to turn around, only to find himself being boxed in and held still by two men. He knows what's going on, knows who they are and what they're doing, and as he struggles against their hold—cursing the fact that he'd left the Tower unarmed—he knows it's a lost cause.

"Don't make a scene, Agent Coulson," one of them says in his ear as he grows drowsier by the second. "You wouldn't want any of these people to get hurt, now, would you?"

No, of course he doesn't want anyone getting hurt. But he doesn't want to just let them abduct him either. Unfortunately, one of those wants very heavily outweighs the other, and as he is beginning to notice faces in the crowd who are not fleeing in terror, he understands that this had been staged. This had been their goal all along: to separate him and Steve, to keep the captain distracted as they quietly whisked him away. This is about the artifact they'd taken from them, of course. What they could possibly have wanted it for considering what it does is beyond him. But if they're looking to get information, of course Phil presents the easier target.

His tongue is numb and his head heavy as they begin to haul him off. Thoughts flow through his mind about as quick as thick molasses as he hangs limp between his abductors. He hears passing comments of concern from some of the civilians he had lead from the exhibit hall, but is unable to answer for himself. His captors speak for him, flash badges that are a mock-up of his own, claim to be his fellow agents as they thank civilians for their concern and cite a heart condition for his present appearance. There is just enough fight left in him for a sudden, bright burst of anger to flare up in his chest before he's dragged under, unwilling, into the inky black of unconsciousness.

* * *

Steve knows something is off. As he continues to fight off wave after wave of oncoming HYDRA agents, he feels himself being pulled further and further out of the moment. Not by any conscious choice, of course, it's just that every time he tries to clear his head he just ends up drifting off again. Not being in uniform, he has no comms to rely on and finds himself agitated at the fact that he has no way of contacting the agent or his fellow Avengers. Until anyone else arrives on the scene, he's fighting blind.

He makes steady progress in pushing his attackers back, keeping them from coming through and giving Phil time to escort the civilians to safety. But he can't account for anything that may be happening outside, not so long as he's stuck in here. So he pushes back stronger, rails harder against their efforts, driving them out the way they'd come.

It's as he manages to breach the exhibit hall that he feels something along the bond—anger, flaring up bright and sharp and cutting. Something is happening. There's a reason for that anger, for the way his head has grown fuzzy, and he's certain he won't like the answer. He hadn't noticed in the beginning, but now he sees that the primary objective of the agents blocking his path is to slow him down, rather than take him down. They're pushing numbers instead of skill and there's a reason for that.

_"Incoming, Cap!"_

Steve's head whips up at the tinny sound of Tony's voice, just before Iron Man comes crashing through the mob of HYDRA agents, a volley of arrows following after him for any stragglers.

"What the hell happened?" Clint asks, quickly coming up beside him.

"I don't know," Steve says. "They just started attacking the place. I've been holding them off so Phil could get the civilians to safety."

He looks to Tony.

"Something's wrong. I need you to find him," he says.

_"Can do,"_ Tony answers. _"You guys think you can handle taking out the rest of the trash?"_

At the sight of incoming S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the Hulk barreling through enemies with Natasha atop his shoulders, Steve is fairly certain they can. Tony zips off without much more prompting and Steve gets back to work. They make better headway with a combined effort, taking down the throng of HYDRA forces. As Steve had suspected, there's no one among them higher that foot-soldier status. He doesn't realize he's grimacing until he feels a hand on his arm and Jasper is pulling him away from the remainder of the fight. At first he tries to shake the agent off, but then the warning from earlier in the day comes back to him—his decisions aren't affected just him.

"You look like you're gonna pass out. Just let them handle the rest," Jasper advises him. "Where's Coulson? I can't get him on comms."

If he hadn't been worried before, he certainly is now. "I don't know. We had to split up so he could lead the civilians out. Tony's looking for him, but I think something's wrong with him. Something happened."

"You feeling something?" Jasper asks, catching on immediately.

"I felt anger from him earlier," Steve says, flexing his hands into fists over and over. "And I've felt… strange. Disoriented. Like my head's in the clouds."

"And you think it's coming from him?" Jasper asks.

"It's not coming from me," Steve says. "Can you get Tony?"

Jasper presses a finger to his ear and holds up a hand. "Stark, you copy? Have you located Coulson?"

Steve waits anxiously, afraid that he already knows the answer. That tugging he'd felt earlier today when they'd been apart has been present since this fight had begun and only seems to be growing stronger by the minute. Jasper catches his eye and shakes his head. As he listens to Jasper issue commands for the agents under his command to join the search, Steve knows exactly what's gone on.

* * *

Phil doesn't know what it says about him that he's been slapped awake enough times that he needs two hands to keep count. Still, this time is really no different than any of the other times, save for the fact that he's still psychically bound to Steve. So when he's roughly pulled back to the waking world, it's one of the first things he's aware of. It's that tug in his gut again, the one that means there's distance between them.

"Rise and shine, Agent Coulson."

He looks up, blinking until his vision comes into focus, only to find the same men who had abducted him. He sighs and looks back down, taking in the fact that the built-in restraints on the chair he's seated in are tightened just short of constricting blood flow.

"Since you already seem to know who I am, I don't suppose you'd care to give me your names?" Phil asks.

He's met with silence. Not that he expected any differently. Well, since they're not going to be forthcoming with their real names, he's just going to have to come up with some of his own. Let's see… there's the leader. How about Jimmy the Weasel? He looks like a Jimmy the Weasel. And the others… well, those he can see, anyway… Lefty, Legs and The Chin. There, that'll do.

"I'm assuming you want to know where we took the artifact," Phil says.

"You're as perceptive as I've heard," Jimmy the Weasel says mockingly. "Given the choice between you and Captain Rogers, I think you can agree that you're the easier target to interrogate."

"Easier to abduct. Easier to injure, certainly," Phil says with a simpering smile. "But I think you'll find that I'm not as easy to interrogate as you've mistakenly assumed."

Phil can hear the crack echo through the room as he's swiftly backhanded by Lefty—appropriately named, it seems—for his reply. This isn't the first time he's been in this situation and doubtless it won't be the last, so he knows by now how to handle himself. He's been subject to many different interrogation types, different methods of torture. Based on his treatment thus-far, he's confident in his guess that they're the type who will attempt to beat whatever information they need out of him.

"Before we begin, I'd just like to wish you gentlemen the best of luck," Phil says, flexing his jaw. "I'm afraid you're going to need it."

"Tell us what S.H.I.E.L.D. intends to do with the artifact," Jimmy the Weasel says.

"Tell me what HYDRA intends to do with the artifact," Phil counters.

Lefty—and he's really hating himself for the irony here—delivers a solid few punches to his torso. The ropes binding him to the chair mean he has no way to defend himself apart from tensing his muscles and waiting for it to happen. Phil has faced opponents of many different sorts, but as experienced as he considers himself to be with taking a punch, he has to admit that Lefty hits pretty damn hard.

"It would really be in your best interest if you would just cooperate with us, Agent Coulson," Jimmy the Weasel tells him.

"You mean in _your_ best interest," Phil coughs.

"Excuse me?"

"I know enough about HYDRA to say that you're not very far up the food chain; but you'd like to be," Phil answers, never breaking eye contact with the man before him. "You've done just well enough to earn yourself a shot at advancement and this was it. Only the artifact you were supposed to recover was claimed by S.H.I.E.L.D. instead. So now, what should have been your opportunity to climb the ranks has become a desperate attempt to recover after you fumbled the ball. Correct me if I'm wrong, but HYDRA doesn't look very kindly upon failure, does it?"

At the very least, they're going for a little variety he thinks to himself as Legs skulks towards him with a taser in-hand. The number of times he'd threatened to tase Tony until he drooled into the carpet come back to him now as Legs barely waits for him to finish speaking before jabbing him up under his ribs. Phil feels the electricity course through his body, causing all his muscles to constrict as he convulses beneath the restraints keeping him moored to the chair. He's been tased before of course—it's standard S.H.I.E.L.D. training that you have to know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of their less-than-lethal weaponry before you use it yourself—but he has to admit the voltage on this one packs a punch.

By the end of it, he's left sagging against the chair feeling like he's the consistency of Jell-O. His muscles spasm and twitch as he tries to regain his breath with Jimmy the Weasel looming over him the entirety of the time.

"We can stop anytime you like, Agent Coulson," he says in what he must believe is a persuasive tone of voice.

Phil gathers enough breath to tell him, "The same goes for you."

Jimmy the Weasel doesn't like to get his hands dirty and he's good at getting other people to do that for him while still receiving the credit, Phil deduces as they lay into him. He knows the type. There are two subcategories to this type: those who are actually smart, and those who are simply smarter than the people they manipulate. Jimmy the Weasel falls into the latter category. This can work in Phil's favor or against it, depending on how he plays his cards, and as much as he likes to claim he's not a gambling man, Nick would be the first to point out that he has a tendency to play dangerous odds and only gets away with it because he's got the devil's luck.

Still, as he does what he can to shield himself from their blows—which isn't much—he notices his predicament has an added element of difficulty. Namely, his bond. While they're tenderizing him like a cut of beef, he can feel the effects of having that bond stretched thin beginning to kick in. Although typically able to hold his own well enough in this sort of scenario, he finds himself wearing down quicker than he'd like. For a moment it feels like… it feels like he blacks out, except he's still conscious of what's being done to him, knows he's still there. It's not full awareness, no, and he gets the feeling that he's not alone. He feels Steve. With him, but not with him. This is different than what they've experienced up until now and suddenly he's flooded with worry that all of this is bouncing back to Steve. But almost as quickly as it was established, the connection is severed and he's alone again.

Jimmy the Weasel must signal them to stop, because they abruptly cease their pummeling. Not a minute later, there is a glass of water being held up to his lips. Given what he's gathered so far, he knows what this is. They're attempting to convince him that they don't really _want_ to hurt him, it's just the job. He's given them no choice. If up to them, they wouldn't touch a hair on his head. Phil knows because it's a tactic he often employs himself. If you push too hard, you get nothing, but if you sprinkle in little acts of kindness to show them you're human, you're much more likely to yield a result.

So he drinks because a) he knows it's not poisoned, b) he has to in order to play along, and c) he's thirsty.

"We know you and Captain Rogers came into direct contact with the stone," Jimmy the Weasel says as they give him a breather. "Tell us what it does and we can put an end to all this nonsense."

"Beats the hell out of me," Phil says. "Coincidentally, that seems to be what you're doing."

"I would prefer not to have to force this information out of you," Jimmy the Weasel says. "You're an admirable adversary and I would like to see you returned to your people, alive and in one piece. However, I am not opposed to returning you dead, in many pieces. You can tell me yourself, or I can use you as leverage to obtain the information from your allies. Either way, I will be getting what I want; whether or not you walk out of here is up to you."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't negotiate with terrorists," Phil replies.

"I'm not talking about S.H.I.E.L.D., Agent Coulson," Jimmy the Weasel corrects him. "I'm talking about you."

"Like I said: S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't negotiate with terrorists," Phil repeats.

They're not in much of a talking mood after that.

* * *

Steve paces the room in obvious agitation, wishing to god he had something to do right now. Without it, all he can focus on is the cramping in his gut and the knowledge that Phil had fallen into HYDRA's hands on his watch. They're doing everything they can to figure out just where the agent is, but it seems that HYDRA had been smart enough to remove the tracking implant that's standard for all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Tony, Clint and Natasha are out assisting the agents in their search, but they haven't found much to help them yet.

"Isn't there any way you can _feel_ where he is?" Maria asks.

"That isn't how it works," Steve responds, scrubbing a hand across his face. "I can feel when he's not near me. I'm not a GPS."

"We've got agents out working on it and we're scanning the security footage of the area as we speak," Nick says.

"In the meantime, how are you feeling?" Bruce asks.

"Kind of like this morning," Steve says. "It's not quite as bad, but I—"

He's stopped mid-sentence when he feels something that he can only say is like being shocked with electricity. His whole body goes rigid until the sensation abruptly disappears. It's only then that he realizes he's gripping the edge of the table for dear life and that the others have gathered around him. Bruce and Jasper both have their hands on him and he has to wave them off before they're willing to step back.

"And that was…?" Jasper prompts.

"I don't know. It felt like I got tased," Steve admits. He frowns heavily. "There's never been any transfer like this before, but I think this may be coming from Phil."

"We don't know exactly how this bond works or what its limitations are," Bruce points out. "It's possible that it could be evolving."

"To include pain?" Steve asks uncertainly.

Bruce shrugs. "Without Thor here, I can only speculate, but if you really think that sensation originated with Agent Coulson, I don't see why it isn't possible."

"Do you think it might be a good idea to take him to medical?" Jasper asks the group.

"I'm not going to medical," Steve says stubbornly.

"It might be for the best," Maria advises. "We don't know what they might do to Agent Coulson and I think it would be wise for you to be under medical supervision."

"That's precisely why I'm not going to medical," Steve argues. "Not until he's found."

"Listen, Cap, we all want to find him as much as you do," Nick begins. "But given your condition—"

Steve doesn't get to hear the rest of whatever the director had planned to say as pain comes crashing into him like a tidal wave. He thinks he grabs the table again, but he's having trouble focusing on anything around him at the moment. It feels like he's being beaten, receiving blow after blow with no way to defend himself. There are hands on him, friendly hands, but it conflicts so heavily with what he's feeling that it makes his head spin. At the peak of it, something happens. It's like tunnel vision, like that place just before you black out.

Phil is there. He can feel him, like he's right beside him, and for a moment the effects of being apart are eased. He feels that warmth come washing over him and he clings to it desperately. He doesn't know what's going on, but all he can do is try to reach out, try to grasp hold of anything he can to help him figure out where Phil is. What he gets from Phil is worry. Sudden, sharp, overwhelming worry that he's feeling the same pain that Phil is. It's strong enough to make him nauseous and then—

Then Phil's gone. He's staring at the floor, on his hands and knees and panting for breath. He can still feel pain, but it's fading now.

"Steve, can you hear me?" Bruce is asking him.

The scientists is beside him, a hand on his back as he watches him with concern. Steve can hear Jasper radioing for a medic to come meet them in the conference room and he wants to tell him to stop, but there's something more pressing on his mind.

"They're hurting him," he says, shakily attempting to rise.

"Coulson?" Nick asks as Bruce and Maria help Steve into a chair.

Steve nods, feeling drained. He's not sure how to explain what had just occurred without sounding like a lunatic, but given how bizarre the situation is to begin with, he hasn't got much to lose. Jasper hands him a glass of water and he nods gratefully, emptying the glass in one go.

"I was with him for a minute," Steve says, setting the glass on the table. "Sort of. It's hard to describe, but it was like I was next to him or he was next to me. I tried to find out where he is, but I don't think the connection was strong enough for that. But they're beating him, I felt it. All of it."

"Looking for information," Maria hums.

Nick snorts. "They picked the wrong agent."

"While I'm sure you're right, I'd still prefer it if we found him sooner rather than later," Steve says with a sigh, resting his chin on his knuckles.

"Steve?" Bruce says.

Steve can feel his hand on his shoulder and he'd like very much to answer his fellow Avenger, but the thing of it is, he's just so tired. He can feel them shaking him, trying to rouse him, but the pull towards sleep is just too strong. He wonders if Phil is feeling it too, if maybe Phil is just passing out, or if they're doing something else to him, and then all of it matters very little because he sinks under and doesn't feel anything at all.


	5. The Weight of Living

Steve knows he's dreaming. Worse yet, he knows exactly what he's in for.

"Move away, please," he commands.

Loki raises his hands in defense, stepping away from the panel. Steve's eyes never stray from the deranged god, but from his peripheral vision he can see Thor watching him, his gaze moving cautiously between the agent and his brother. Steve takes slow, measured steps forward, holding the massive weapon in his steady hands as Loki slowly continues to back away.

"You like this? We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer," he hears himself say. "Even I don't know what it does."

He's advancing on Loki, slowly, carefully, each step taken with purpose. He fires up the weapon in his hands.

"Wanna find out?"

There is a split second after he finishes uttering the last syllable of his question where it is quiet. Then the gears start turning and it's too late to alter their course. He feels a sudden, unimaginable pain as the scepter pierces his back and exits his chest, tearing a startled gasp out of him as he's forced onto tiptoes, his body bowing back. He hears Thor cry out, anguished and sees the Loki standing before him vanish. He feels the strength leave his body so that the only thing keeping him on his feet is the weapon he's impaled upon. And then that's gone as Loki pulls the scepter from his body, leaving him to collapse against the wall.

It's like he has to remember how to breathe again. Each gasping breath he draws is agony, his chest on fire. He tastes iron on his tongue, feels his shirt clinging to his skin, wet and sticky. As he tries not to focus on the sensation of blood pouring out of him and pain unlike anything he's ever felt, he watches Loki lift the scepter, stained with his blood, for Thor to see, as though to tell him "This is your fault." But it isn't. It's not. He'd come here himself, knowing that he might not make it back.

Loki taps the panel and a hole opens up beneath the container imprisoning Thor. He watches the god of thunder back towards the center, a thousand emotions upon his face as he prepares to be dropped. With Loki's hand hovering over the drop button, all he can do is watch. Moving isn't an option; continuing to breathe and remain conscious is taking everything he's got as it is. Anger flares up in him, bright and hot as a flame and Steve is startled by the myriad of thoughts and emotions he's bombarded with.

He's failed. He hadn't been able to help Thor. He hadn't been able to buy them time. He's let Nick down. This can't be the end of it. He _knows_ they can still do this. Everyone had told him that the Avengers Initiative was a gamble, that it could never work, that they were too volatile, too high strung to function as a team. But he knows they can. There's still time. He believes they can, they will, when they're needed most. He believes in them. There has to be something he can do, one last thing he can do before he…

And then Loki hit the button. The canister drops and he rests his head back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment. The pain is dizzying. He feels like he's not getting enough air. But he pries his eyes open and looks towards Loki as the god turns away from the panel.

"You're going to lose," he says.

It causes Loki to pause, to turn back to him. Yes. He hadn't been able to do what he'd come here to do, but he can stall. Appeal to Loki's ego, keep goading him until he's dropped his guard _just_ a fraction. It's not much, but he can hopefully buy them some time with the little bit he has left.

"Am I?" Loki inquires.

"It's in your nature," he answers softly.

Loki offers him a look of disbelief. He doesn't blame him.

"Your heroes are scattered, your floating fortress falls from the sky," Loki says, his lips curling up in a smirk. "Where is my disadvantage?"

"You lack conviction."

The smirk disappears from Loki's face and in its place there forms a scowl. There. That's what he needs.

"I don't think I'm—"

Loki doesn't get to finish his sentence. The Destroyer Gun, propped up on his knee, angled just enough to hit the god, fires as he pulls the trigger. In a stunning flash of light, Loki is blasted through the far wall and there is too much smoke and debris for him to see what else happens, if anything. He sags against the wall, his soft laugh emerging as more of a wheeze.

"So that's what it does," he murmurs to himself.

That is it. His last hurrah. There are no more tricks up his sleeve and as he watches Loki stagger to his feet, he can't help but regret that he couldn't buy more time. If anything, he's just been a minor inconvenience, nothing near the distraction they would need to turn the tide of this assault. He can't stop Loki.

Steve is overwhelmed by the stream of consciousness of that flows through him. He feels a crushing regret at being unable to get Clint back, worry for Natasha, for how she must have to fight her partner. He worries for both of them, cast into a fight of gods and monsters, something they were never trained for. He'd brought Clint into S.H.I.E.L.D. and promised to never leave him behind. He'd made that same promise when Clint had brought Natasha into the fold. Now he was breaking those promises. He should have known better; that making promises is dangerous in this line of work.

He worries about the people that he's come to call family: Nick and Jasper and Maria. They're up on the bridge, right now, trying to stave off this attack. Will they make it out unscathed? Will they make it out alive? He remembers a lunch date that he and Pepper have next week that he knows he'll never make it to. He worries for Thor, wonders if he's survived the drop, and then wonders the same about Bruce. It was such a long way and gods or monsters aside, he doesn't know if they can handle it.

He wonders if Tony will be able to get the ship flying true again. He contemplates the fate of all the agents under his command and what will become of them. And he worries… for Steve. If he will adjust. If this will prove to be too much for him. He regrets being unable to apologize for coming on too strong. He regrets things like the room they'd set up for him when he'd thawed out. Had he ever had time to decompress? To deal with everything that had happened to him? Had they pushed too much on him too soon? He thinks of Peggy and prays that Steve will see her, that she'll get the chance to see him again. God, he just wants them all to be alright. He wants to see them through this. He wants to see them come out on the other side of it.

The heavy clatter of boots disrupts his train of thought as Nick Fury comes to a halt before him. For a moment the director appears frozen before he kneels and pulls the gun off of his lap.

"Sorry boss," he says, his voice weak and breathless, "the god rabbited."

"Just stay awake," Nick says. He reaches out, grabbing him by the chin and forcing their eyes to meet as he says more forcefully, "Eyes on me."

He feels a sudden, sharp pain in his chest that has nothing to do with the steadily bleeding wound. He looks his old friend in the eye and sudden it all _hurts_. It all comes crashing down on him and it hurts. He's dying. He's going to die.

"No, I'm clocked out here," he says.

"Not an option," Nick growls.

He almost wants to laugh. Because that's Nick for you; ready to tell Death itself that it can go fuck itself. He doesn't want to die, but it hurts less now. There's a numbness gradually radiating inward towards his core and the effort it takes to keep his eyes open, to keep breathing, mounts rapidly as the seconds tick by. He doesn't have long.

They've been through so much together. They all have. It's a shame that it should all have to end now, but… it could be worth something. If this could help them see, if it could show them how much they're needed together, as a team, then maybe this doesn't have to be for nothing. That's how he's always wanted to go out: dying for something worthwhile, doing something right. He feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he tries to smile. Nick is scared. He knows that. Not many people would be able to read that off of him, but there it is. He's scared, too. But this is how it has to be. This is how it is. And he has to believe it'll all be okay, in the end, even if he doesn't get to see it.

"It's okay, boss," he says, his breathing shaky and sporadic. "This was never gonna work… if they didn't have something… to…"

He feels his heart struggling to beat, giving one last ditch effort to keep him going. But it's done. It's over. His remaining breath isn't enough to force out the rest of what he'd wanted to say, but it's okay. Nick probably understands. He can't breathe, but it's okay.

It doesn't hurt anymore.

* * *

"Rogers! Rogers, calm down!"

Steve struggles, feeling sick and disoriented as he gasps for air.

"Steve, it's okay. Steve, I need you to relax. _Breathe_, Steve."

That's Bruce talking. Bruce Banner. Right. He's not lying against a wall on the Helicarrier. That hadn't been him. That's not where he is, it isn't happening right now and he needs to come back. He stops struggling, but the weight of those holding him down doesn't ease up off of him. He knows where he is now, but he can't shrug off the feelings of what he'd just experienced. They all knew what had happened when Phil had died, but seeing it firsthand, feeling it, wasn't like anything else he's ever experienced.

"Is everyone… Is everyone okay?" he asks, trying to sit up.

"Everyone except you," Jasper says, trying to keep him lying down even as they back off of him.

"What happened?" Steve asks.

"You lost consciousness and while we were moving you to medical, your heart stopped," Bruce explains. "Obviously we were able to revive you, given that you're still with us, but we weren't sure what was going on. We're still not, to be honest."

"I died," Steve blurts.

"For a little, yeah," Jasper agrees.

"No, I mean, I died. He died. Phil, I mean, I was…" he says as he sits up, regardless of their protests. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he struggles to form a coherent sentence. "It was Loki. He was remembering the Helicarrier, New York, and I… I felt him die."

He presses a hand against his chest, faint traces of the pain he'd felt lingering in the waking world. A moment later, there's a blanket around his shoulders and he finds he'd been so engrossed in the memory that he hadn't realized he was freezing. He bows his head and closes his eyes, fighting back the waves of nausea and dizziness that roll over him.

"You haven't found him," he says.

"No," Maria says, sounding frustrated by the fact. "But we're still looking. Our techs pulled up some images of the HYDRA agents in question from security cameras. Stark's attempting to trace their path through the city via surveillance systems, but it's taking time."

"Given what's just happened, I have to ask," Nick says. "Can you tell if he's still alive?"

"I am," Steve says. "So he must be."

"Are we sure it even works that way?" Jasper questions. "You came around because we revived you. How do we know that they were able to do the same?"

"How do you know that I didn't come around because he did?" Steve asks defensively.

Jasper holds his hands up peaceably. "I'm not saying one way or another, I'm just saying we have to consider all the angles and relying on you for a status update might not be the best course of action when we don't understand how this bond works."

"He's right," Bruce says, shaking his head. "Making assumptions isn't going to help anyone here. Unless you can definitively tell us you're picking something up from him?"

Steve tries to concentrate, tries to reach out to that space where they'd both been earlier. It's like wandering around in the dark with his hands outstretched before him, hoping that he might feel the brush of Phil's fingers against his own. But there's nothing. It seems he can't force himself into that place or summon Phil to him in any way, much as he tries. It doesn't stop him from continuing to reach for something, just a hint that the agent is alright.

"No, I'm not getting anything," Steve admits tiredly.

"Well, for now, you're staying in medical," Nick says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Agent Sitwell and Dr. Banner will remain here with you while we continue to coordinate the search."

"Let us know if you've got anything to report," Maria adds as they leave the room. She casts a sharp look at Jasper. "And keep us updated on his status."

Jasper nods dutifully before assuming his seat at the computer in the corner of the room. Steve bites back a sigh, huddling further into the blanket around his shoulders. His link to Phil is disturbingly quiet and for the first time since this whole thing had begun, he finds himself hating the fact that the only thoughts in his head are his own.

"How're you feeling?"

Steve huffs a laugh at Bruce's question. "I thought you weren't that kind of doctor?"

"Well, I figure people assume I am enough that I might as well just go with it," Bruce says with a wry smile, sitting in the chair beside his bed. "But the question stands."

"Haven't felt this bad since before the serum," Steve admits, lying back against the pillows. "It feels strange, waking up and him not being there."

"Give it some time," Bruce advises him. "It may just be that he's taking longer to come around than you did."

Steve prays that's all it is. The alternative makes him sicker to his stomach than he already is. He keeps himself open—or tries to, as he isn't really sure how all of this works—hoping for that light brush of consciousness against his own, but getting nothing. Remembering the last time they'd spoken leaves a bad taste in his mouth; if the last thing interaction they had was Phil confessing his feelings, only for him to… But now, he's not going to think that way. He's not going to allow his mind to wander down that path.

"Any word from Thor while I was out?" he asks, looking to distract himself.

"Nothing," Jasper says, eyes still focused on the monitor before him. "The second any of us knows anything, you will, too."

"I know," Steve says, feeling frustratingly helpless. "I just want to feel like I'm doing something. Trying to get answers. Something."

"You can help us out by staying here," Jasper says, twisting in his seat to stare Steve down. "I get that you wanna go out and do that hero thing, but the best way to help Phil is to help yourself. Take it easy, let us do the work and let us know if you feel anything. Remember, if you two are connected, he's probably getting all sorts of bad vibes from you for beating yourself up."

"And you think make him feel guilty about that is going to help?" Bruce interjects mildly.

"I'm just saying," Jasper says with a shrug.

"I understand, but it's not doing him any good to tell him he could be hurting Phil," Bruce points out. "I'm pretty sure he's already well aware of that fact."

Jasper offers him a pointed stare. "Look, Dr. Banner, when this is all over we'll have plenty of time for me to revisit my S.H.I.E.L.D. Sensitivity Training, but for now I think there are better ways for us to utilize our time than debating whether or not I've properly taken everyone's feelings into account."

"Noted, but this situation isn't an excuse to be deliberately obtuse, Agent Sitwell," Bruce answers crisply. "I fully comprehend what you were attempting to do, but given the nature of their bond, I hardly think it's—… Steve?"

Steve hasn't really noticed the argument brewing between the room's other two occupants. He finds himself in the grip of a sudden, unspeakable terror that leaves him clutching the blanket around him so hard that his knuckles turn white. He hears the heart monitor begin to beep like it's going out of style even as he tries to reign in his emotions. Except they're not just his. His relief is at war with the fear Phil is feeling; they each pull his attention in different directions, enough so that he loses his tenuous hold on keeping his stomach settled.

Thankfully someone—he doesn't know whether it's Jasper or Bruce—seems to read this in the way he looks, because a split second before he begins to vomit, there's a bucket shoved under his nose. He's vaguely aware of a hand on his back as his stomach violently rids itself of its contents, continuing to force him to heave long after there's nothing left. At long last it ends, leaving him panting and only slightly less dizzy than when it had started.

"Phil's alive," Steve says when he has enough air to speak, his voice sounding rough to his own ears.

"You're positive?" Jasper asks.

"Yeah," Steve answers, shooting Bruce a thankful look when the scientist takes the bucket away. "I got something from him. He's, uh… He's scared. I think when he was remembering, his heart must've stopped, too. Because it's just…"

He shakes his head, swallowing the raw emotion being fed to him along their link. It's overwhelming and if he isn't careful, he knows it'll pull him under again. He tries to push back, to send something back to Phil, something calming and reassuring, something that will let him know that they're coming for him.

"It's just blind panic. It's like when he woke up in medical after thinking he'd died because the last thing he remembers is actually dying," Steve says tiredly.

There's a beat of silence before Jasper turns away, striding out of the room without a word as to where he's going. Steve looks to Bruce questioningly, but the other man just shrugs, every bit as clueless as he is. They don't have to wait long before Jasper returns, carrying a cup in his hand which he hands to Steve once he's near enough. Steve looks down into the cup, finding it to be full of ginger ale.

"Not sure if it'll help settle your stomach, but it's worth a shot," the agent says with a shrug. "I've notified Director Fury of what's just happened and he says you're not to leave my supervision at any time."

Bruce quirks an eyebrow at that. "And what you're getting at is that 'under your supervision' doesn't necessarily mean 'stay in this room.'"

"Gold star, Dr. Banner," Jasper replies. He looks between the two of them. "Steve, I know you want to get out there and do something. Bruce, I know you're with me in that you'd rather he stay put and rest. What I'm suggesting is a compromise. You might not be a GPS, Steve, but you can't tell me that this bond of yours hasn't been evolving since you were first bound together. I'm not saying it'll work, but I can't see how it'd hurt if the three of us took a Quin out."

"I could be on standby if there was any need medically or if there was a threat that needed to be dealt with. The link between Steve and Phil does seem to have changed over time, and distance has been shown to incite a physical response. Therefore it would stand to reason that reducing the distance between them would alleviate the symptoms. It wouldn't be turn-by-turn directions, but it might be enough to give us a heading," Bruce said scrubbing a hand across his chin. He looks to Jasper with a small nod. "It could work."

"It's better than staying here," Steve agrees, already trying to push himself to his feet.

"Alright, alright, take it easy there, hero," Jasper says, pushing him back to the bed. "If you're going, it's going to be on our terms. If anything like what just happened occurs again or if Bruce doesn't think you're well enough to continue, we head back here, no buts. I'm not about to see you get yourself killed because we went poking around in the wrong direction. Understand?"

"I'm assuming we're doing this without Fury's blessing," Steve says, catching on.

"He doesn't want you leaving and he trusts me to play this by the book because I usually play things by the book," Jasper says with the barest of smiles. "That only means I can get away with more because I'm usually a good boy."

"And you only bend the rules," Bruce adds.

"When it's warranted. Right now, I think it's warranted," Jasper says.

"Are we keeping this quiet from the others as well?" Bruce wants to know.

"For the time being, I think that'd be our best bet," Jasper replies. "If we get any leads, we can always call in the cavalry."

"While I don't like the idea of moving Steve around after what just happened…" Bruce says, trailing off thoughtfully. He shakes his head. "We haven't exactly got any leads and keeping him here could potentially do as much damage as taking him out."

"That's the spirit, doc," Jasper says, walking to the other side of the room and pulling something out of the closet. "Now, help me get him in this wheelchair."

"No," Steve says. "I'm _not_ going out in that. I'll walk."

"Not if you want to get out of here, you won't," Jasper snorts. "If we run into anyone, we can just claim we're wheeling you around for some fresh air. If you're walking, they'll get suspicious so the IV line and the wheelchair stay."

Steve makes a dissatisfied noise, but based on the way the room tilts when he tries to stand and the fact that Bruce is mostly holding him up, he doesn't exactly have room to argue. Being pushed out by Bruce and Jasper sounds very far from ideal, but if suffering a little humiliation is the worst he has to do in order to get Phil back, then he'll take it like a champ.

* * *

Phil's lungs spasm as he gasps for air like a drowning man, panic pulling at him from all sides. He's dying. He's dying and god it hurts and Loki is attacking the Helicarrier and Clint is being forced to do so with him and Natasha is alone and why can't he—

No. No, that's not what's happening. That's not where he is. He isn't dying—well, he doesn't think so anyway—and there isn't a gaping wound in his chest. The pain he's feeling isn't from a scepter wielded by a mad god.

He knows these things. He reminds himself of them. But still he feels that blind panic, that raw, primordial fear of death. Because even if he isn't dying now, he _had_ died then. And now… Now he's passed that on to Steve, striking a whole new kind of fear into him. Why has everything he's passed on to the captain been so traumatizing? Why so intimate? Why do the things that hurt him now have to hurt someone else?

"We weren't sure you'd be rejoining us, Agent Coulson."

Lord, can't these people see he's having a bit of a crisis? Do they have to be so insistent? It's like he can't get a minute to himself around here. He's lying down now, instead of sitting in that chair, and he's not sure if that's a good or a bad thing, but it's something different. Curiously, though, he's on his stomach with his hands bound above his head. What isn't different are the restraints. He's still as strapped down as ever and that doesn't seem like it's going to change any time soon.

"I was kind of hoping I wouldn't," Phil says hoarsely. "I think my butt went numb from that chair. Is that part of the torture? Because if it is, I give."

"I see your little episode has done nothing to alter your… _charming_ personality," Jimmy the Weasel says. As Phil turns his head to look at the man, he can see the man's smile looks decidedly strained. "Thank goodness for that."

"Thanks, I'll be here all day," Phil replies. "I mean, unless my ride gets here. Then I guess I won't be."

"Your ride won't be coming," Jimmy the Weasel says, his expression pleasant but his tone menacing.

"Aw, it's like you actually believe that," Phil says. "Good for you, staying strong in the face of advers—"

The pain is like a lightning strike across his back, cutting in even before he hears the sharp crack and tearing a startled cry from him before he can bite his tongue. He smothers any further evidence of his pain behind tightly sealed lips. They know his smart tongue is what's keeping him in the game, giving him leverage against them, and removing that makes him more vulnerable. Not that he's planning on giving in to them, but not being allowed to deliver snappy comebacks means he has to just sit here and take this abuse.

"I really don't care to do this when you clearly have a condition," Jimmy the Weasel says, laying on the false sympathy thick. "But you're a very stubborn man. If you'd just give us the answers we're looking for, we could avoid having to harm you further."

"Something tells me you're hoping I hold out just a little longer," Phil says gruffly.

"Well, I can't deny that it does get you to stop blathering," Jimmy the Weasel admits. "But I believe you'll find me a man of reason, as I prefer to do things with as little bloodshed as possible."

"That I already figured out," Phil tells him. "You know, 'as little bloodshed as possible' doesn't really count when you just get other people to get their hands bloody for you."

The second crack of the whip hurts every bit as much as the first. His back burns and stings and he finds himself unprepared when the third strike comes. He bucks against the restraints, his body instinctively trying to move away from the source of the pain despite having nowhere to go. They don't let up. The whip cracks again and again, each time painting a path of searing hot pain across his skin until he pants and shakes and can do nothing to stop his eyes from tearing up any more than he can stop himself from crying out with each strike.

After what feels like an eternity, they stop. His back is crisscrossed map of sheer agony. He can feel something trickling along his skin, soaking into whatever's left of his shirt and running down his sides. Blood, sweat, some combination of the two, perhaps. He's given a few minutes to compose himself before the interrogation begins again.

"Tell me about the stone, Agent Coulson," Jimmy the Weasel says above him.

Phil shakes his head, not having the breath to tell him off. The whip cracks.

"Tell me about the stone, Agent Coulson," Jimmy the Weasel repeats.

The process goes on in this cycle and Phil tries to focus on how many times he's been told to tell them what they want to know. But out of the blue, they stop again. He waits, wondering what's coming next. Undoubtedly they've got something new planned for him, as this particular method hasn't yielded anything more than the first had. He's right of course, just not in the way he'd ever expected to be.

"I didn't want to have to involve anyone else, but you've forced my hand," Jimmy the Weasel sighs. "Just let it be known that whatever happens to them is in your hands."

Phil pries his eyes open and turns his head just in time to see a tablet being brought into his field of view. What he sees on the screen hits him harder than any of their blows had. Lying bound and gagged on the floor in a small, dingy room are Pepper Potts and Happy Hogan. He takes the image in, looking for some clue that these are two very well put-together look alikes or that this image isn't being broadcast live, but everything he sees tells him that it's genuine.

"Now," Jimmy the Weasel says, pulling the tablet away and crouching to his level. "Tell me about the stone, Agent Coulson."


End file.
